


Love Tunnel (ending your infinite misery)

by Oshii



Series: I Have That Effect on Women ;) Lucifer H/C Prompt Fills [9]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e13 Til Death Do Us Part, Food Poisoning, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Intoxication, Sickfic, Vomiting, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21747517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshii/pseuds/Oshii
Summary: While on their undercover mission in 3x13, Lucifer overindulges and pays the price, thanks to Chloe's cumbersome proximity. But, although incapacitated, he discovers that perhaps he isn't the -only- celestial to be affected by the Detective's presence, and takes comfort in this key development with his new relationship to Cain. H/C, emeto, food poisoning, intoxication, overindulgence. Light Pierce/Lucifer.
Series: I Have That Effect on Women ;) Lucifer H/C Prompt Fills [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505822
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Love Tunnel (ending your infinite misery)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted Dec. 9, 2019, at https://oshii.tumblr.com/post/189586849119/i-love-your-lucifer-sick-stuff-so-how-about
> 
> For an anonymous Tumblr prompt:
> 
> "I love your Lucifer sick stuff!! ... So how about Lucifer getting sick during the undercover mission with Pierce? Because of something he ate or something like that. Chloe is close to them to keep an eye on them... close enough to make Lucifer vulnerable. Maybe it happens at night? She's basically hidden around the corner for safety reasons (and also for maximum vulnerability) and he can't even go take a long walk away to feel better because the murderer is active at night."
> 
> Only too happy to oblige, nonny :) I can’t remember if Brian and Anya brought the wine or not, so let’s just say they did. Also, there is now a charcuterie board joining the dinner spread tonight!

While it was far from the finest showcasing of his culinary skills, Lucifer knew with complacent satisfaction that the baked asiago mac ‘n cheese he’d whipped up from scratch had been the star of their impromptu dinner party, golden and resplendent with homey comforting fumes wafting from the kitchen as they welcomed Brian and Anya into their newly-rented home. Which struck Lucifer as odd, because Brian and Anya were supposed to be the ones doing the welcoming, weren’t they? The bottle of mid-shelf white zinfandel they’d brought had certainly gone down nicely, smooth and floral and lightly acidic, a lovely complement to the richness of the dish presented.

“Thanks, Anya,” he murmured, raising his flask to the ceiling in a mock toast before taking a gulp. That aforementioned satisfaction hummed blissfully through his veins, softening the edges of consciousness until it occurred to Lucifer that, maybe, it wasn’t _only_ the newly-besotted nuptial bliss clouding his judgement and making him feel buzzed. Several large glasses of wine and a few good slugs of bourbon from his flask were inexplicably enough to dissolve the evening into a muddled blur. He was beginning to feel like a naughty schoolgirl, and not in the good way, either.

 _Detective_ , he thought hazily, _do a Devil a favor and back up a bit, for crying out loud!_

“Might wanna take it easy on the sauce,” Pierce admonished, glancing over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, suds frothing from the sink. “We do actually have to get up early tomorrow.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes in the midst of another sip, clawing mentally through wisps of liquored haze. “Yes, Yes, _Marc_ , I heard you the first time. Finish up those dishes, then, so we can retire properly.”

“Not sleeping in the same bed as you, Lucifer. Forget about it.”

“But, honey, what about our cover? Surely you don’t want to blow it, not after that production we already endured tonight?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“ _Darling_ —”

Pierce threw the plate he was holding into the sink with an almighty, resoundingly bubbly splash, soap suds flying everywhere. He flung his hands and groaned in irritated defeat, hastily pulling at his apron strings as he stormed off. “You finish the dishes. I’m going to bed. By _myself_!”

“Cain!” Lucifer called after him, his own brow knitting in consternation as he surveyed the dishes yet to be done. “That Corningware needs to _soak_! That asiago will crust drier than Daniel’s love tunnel!”

He sighed in the absence of a response, and raised the flask once more to his lips, resigned to the rare treat of true intoxication as a cap to his evening. His head began to swim, and he closed his eyes.

The walkie-talkie by the sink crackled to life, and Chloe’s tinny echo came through. “ _Lover’s quarrel_?”

Lucifer sighed again, reluctantly opening his eyes and reaching his free hand out to retrieve the radio. “Just contending with the truth, Detective. Over.”

“ _Truth about what? And we talked about this, Lucifer. You don’t have to say over_.”

The charcuterie board was still on the table, thinly-sliced prosciutto dusky pink and scandalously tempting in the dining room light. Lucifer slid down from the island and advanced toward his prey, liquor-clouded eyes gleaming briefly with vicious and feral intent.

“ _Hello? Lucifer? You still there?_ ” The walkie-talkie, half-forgotten already in the heat of the moment, conveyed Chloe’s impatience through its tiny speaker.

Lucifer, between bites of honey-drizzled crostini, wiped a hand on his trousers and picked up the radio. “Why, the truth about my marriage, Detective,” he answered, selecting a slice of prosciutto.

“ _What? Did Brian and Anya say anyth—_ ”

“That my marriage is a sham and my husband is a coldhearted lout who refuses to acknowledge my feelings or his own!” Bleu cheese crumbles joined the crostini, smearing sticky crumbs on Lucifer’s fingertips. “Mmmm. Have I ever mentioned how much I love bleu cheese, Detective?”

“ _Lucifer, are you…drunk?_ ”

“Only—” he abruptly stifled a burp, blinking and reaching for a Kalamata olive, slick and shining with oil. “Only slightly, I’m afraid. Trying much harder now that I can feel the effects.”

Chloe sighed audibly through the walkie-talkie, dismay crackling through the line. “ _Lucifer, this is a sting operation. I’m out here keeping an eye out for our suspect, and you should be on alert too. What if Brian or Anya turn out to be the killers?!_ ”

Lucifer dangled another glistening sliver of prosciutto above his mouth, toying with it like a frisky cat. “Th’only thing Brian and Anyer are capable of killing ‘s my sex drive,” he slurred, ending on a snicker and slurping up the prosciutto with a greedy flourish.

Had Lucifer been paying attention, he would have heard Chloe audibly slam her forehead into the steering wheel via walkie-talkie. “ _Lucifer, STOP DRINKING and go to bed. I’ll keep an eye out here_.”

The last few drops of white zinfandel slid sticky-sweet down the clear neck of the bottle, dripping onto Lucifer’s outstretched tongue with indulgent finality. “Mmm. Roger that, Detective. Over and out.”

  
\---

_Oh, **God**._

He flung back the covers, swinging his legs over the mattress, disturbing Pierce’s own slumber from where he lay on the carpet with his sleeping bag (staunchly refusing, again, to share the king bed with Lucifer).

“Nnnngh,” groaned Pierce, shifting beneath his bedding. “ _Ow_ ,” he hissed when his foot collided with the nightstand. “LUCIFER” he bellowed when the Devil’s foot plowed into his flank with alarming haste. 

This got Pierce’s full attention, and the Lieutenant flung back his own covers and sat up, scowl firmly set and teeth baring, ready to deliver swift justice. Lucifer paid him no heed. He was _outta here_ , stumbling blindly toward the hall, one hand clapped over his mouth.

 _Thud thud THUD_ pounded his bare feet on the floorboards, freezing and focused, picking up speed rapidly as the bathroom came into sight. Gorge rising, disaster imminent, Lucifer swung into the doorway with an arm flailing wildly for the toilet lid as his stomach rebelled, the explosive heave crumpling him to his knees and spraying the back of the seat. He moaned in utter humiliation, gasping in complete disbelief, unable to fully process the unwitting horror currently taking place as he doubled over and vomited again.

“Lucifer,” came Pierce’s gravelly rumble from the hallway, his own footsteps pounding as he advanced. Then, upon reaching his target, he audibly recoiled with a groan of dismay, his own swallow catching. “Jesus Christ,” he swore beneath his own hand over his mouth and nose.

Somewhere beneath the profound depths of his current misery, panting raggedly and positively dripping with viscous bodily fluids from every facial orifice, Lucifer found the energy to huff a derisive chuckle. “Nn. Not quite,” came the trembling breathy rebuke, his fingers clenching reflexively around the bowl as another heave squeezed him, semi-digested charcuterie contents and liquor splattering into the water.

“Oh, God,” moaned Pierce from the doorway, free hand bracing against the onslaught of digestive pyrotechnics. “What did you _eat_?”

A strangely high-pitched whine came out in response, Lucifer’s face screwed up into the well-known expression of mid-puke agony, tears streaming and drool hanging. No words followed; he was simply focused on catching his breath. This seemed to trigger something primal within Pierce, seeing the Devil reduced to such relatable distress, and he found himself stepping over both the physical threshold of the doorway and the metaphorical one of his own gag reflex to rest a big hand on Lucifer’s bare back, offering solidary and support, maybe even comfort.

“Agh,” Pierce cringed, one eye closing as another awful heave ripped through Lucifer, dredging up the deepest parts of whatever contents had so utterly offended his stomach. “All right. It’s – man, easy, you’re gonna tear something, and that’s _really_ gonna hurt.”

It _did_ fucking hurt. A lot. Lucifer hadn’t succumbed to this type of human fragility in, let’s state this again, quite some time. He’d almost forgotten how genuinely, damnably _awful_ it was to be this wretchedly sick. A pitiful noise that could only be described succinctly as a small sob wrenched loose at the end of a gasp, and to his utter astonishment – beneath the ebbing horrible nausea and stomach cramping – he felt Pierce’s hand rubbing a few warm circles between his shoulderblades, offering some conciliatory pats afterwards.

“Don’t tell me it was the wine,” Pierce halfheartedly joked, his own gorge still on the verge of rising. He lifted his hand to grab some toilet paper and hand it down to Lucifer, wondering exactly what _had_ gotten into him. “I didn’t even know you could get sick.”

“Oh, well,” Lucifer began, able to breathe normally again, but still grimacing at the soreness burning through his abdomen and at the vulgar display of excrement decorating the toilet seat, he _really_ ought to clean that up, so he made an attempt with the proffered toilet paper. “It, ah, _is_ still possible, under the…right circumstances… _ngh_.”

“Right,” Pierce agreed, pursing his lips and looking away from the massacre, focusing on holding his own shit together. “Drinking like a teenage sorority pledge and eating half the kitchen table usually does it.”

Lucifer sniffed with distaste at both the mess he’d made and at Pierce’s comment as he continued to wipe down the toilet seat, the corners of his mouth hardening as the nausea hinted at an encore. “Please,” he muttered. “Centuries of gorging and hedonism led by my own example, and you think that’s what befell me?” He breathed a sigh of settling, dropping the toilet paper into the bowl and resting a hand over his tightened stomach. “No. ‘s the Detective. So near, yet so far.”

Pierce’s brow furrowed, and his disgust momentarily ceded to curiosity. “Chloe? What, did she slip ipecac in your flask after dinner?”

Lucifer closed his eyes, palm sliding a slow circle into his aching belly. His lips parted in a tired sigh. “She makes me vulnerable,” he confessed. “When she’s near, I… _succumb_ to certain weaknesses.”

“Intoxication and possible food poisoning being one of them,” finished Pierce, expression fading into understanding. “You look like hell, Lucifer.”

The irony wasn’t lost on either of them, and Lucifer did manage a slight chuckle. “Bravo on the entendre, lout.” The smirk quickly disappeared as the nausea surged once more, and Lucifer’s closed eyes tightened. “Nngh. No. Not again…”

He leaned forward over the bowl just in time to expel a straining mouthful of bile, bereft of much food or solidity, only made more painful for its scarcity. On the ragged finish, Lucifer gasped and moaned, holding onto the bowl. Pierce rubbed his back again, his own face set in concern, broke free of its usual stoic mask.

“Easy,” Pierce repeated, his rumble a little softer. “You gotta be almost empty.”

A final wrenching, liquid retch came up with a wringing echo, and Lucifer’s body sagged in the aftermath. Several moments went by before he could speak again, the void filled by his panting and their heartbeats. “ _Now_ I’m empty,” he proclaimed in little more than a hoarse whisper, lowering his head into his arms.

Pierce simply kept his hand there, letting his solid touch offer some comfort. Basic physical contact – a pretty human gesture that seemed to fit this uniquely human circumstance. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

On a brief and wild whim, as Lucifer wearily lifted his head, Pierce reached up to feel his forehead. Lucifer’s eyes widened, and in that instant, illuminated by moonlight and shining with vestigial tears, they held the gaze of a young and innocent boy, lost somewhere in the echoes of millennia, asking, _Mother?_

“No fever,” Pierce announced gruffly, deciding to mask the sudden display of affectionate concern with duty, unsure of what had gotten into him just then. “Just checking, Making sure you weren’t dying.”

Lucifer huffed another quiet scoff, eyes fluttering closed once more. Chloe’s voice echoed in his mind, unbidden: _domesticity can have a strange effect on people._

As Pierce helped him to his feet, assisted him to the sink, held him as he rinsed his mouth and splashed water on his face, Lucifer realized that, perhaps, he wasn’t the _only_ one made vulnerable by the Detective’s presence. _Perhaps_ , he realized with dawning excitement, this could be the key to him murdering Pierce once and for all.

“Here,” came Pierce’s voice quite close to his ear as they reached the bedroom, where the covers lay waiting, invitingly flung back as Lucifer had so hastily left them. “Lie back down. I’ll get you some water and a trash can, just in case.”

“Mmm…yes,” murmured Lucifer in reply, acquiescing to the sheets being pulled over his shoulders. “Might come in handy, after all.”

And, as Pierce turned to leave the room – presumably heading back toward the war zone that was now the bathroom – Lucifer thought of one more necessity that could help this situation. “Cain,” he called weakly. “Radio the Detective and ask her to drive around the block a few times, will you? Space out a bit?”

Silence followed, illustrating what could only have been Pierce’s eyebrows knitting together in consternation as he attempted to interpret Lucifer’s request. Then, the low chuckle in the dark meant he got it. “Sure,” he replied. “I’ll ask her to go back to the station and get my neck pillow. Can’t sleep without it.”

Lucifer felt the oppressive weight of hungover nausea lift shortly afterwards, and sighed contentedly, settling in for some real sleep. “Good for you, you blue-eyed lummox,” he yawned.

Maybe this marriage would work out after all, and everyone would get the happily ever after they deserved. I.e., bloody heinous death to end several thousand years’ worth of infinite and untold misery caused by excruciating immortality. And also possibly encroaching food poisoning. _‘Til death do us part_ , Lucifer thought before finally succumbing to blissful, peaceful sleep.


End file.
